chapitre quatorze
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The day after her birthday, Haadi had returned Isra home at dawn, just before her household would awake, and made his own way home to get ready for work.
The effects of the night they'd spent together were still prominent in his mind – he could still feel her touch, taste her kisses, and smell her perfume. There was a giddiness in his step as he walked home. His parents surely noticed his chipper mood when they saw him that morning at the breakfast table. Something about the previous night had solidified where they stood in their relationship and the future direction they were going to take, and he could hardly wait until next summer, when she turned eighteen, to whisk her away to Bourmedes and marry her there.
By eight o'clock, he was dressed in his typical work ensemble and went out the door. The sun was high in the sky, and the entire city was saturated with vibrant colours. It was a nice day to walk, but he took a cab as usual, arriving in under twenty minutes at the office.
He greeted the secretary as he always did, nodded and smiled politely at his fellow coworkers, and made his way to the third floor, where he was sure there were piles of paperwork for him to review and send back to Monsieur Arsenault.
Much to his surprise, however, he saw Francis standing by his desk when he arrived on his floor, appearing distressed and tapping his foot restlessly on the floor as he leaned back against the desk. Francis worked on the last floor, next to his father's office, and they would usually bump into each other on their breaks. So, this was an odd occurrence, one that made Haadi's stomach squeeze unpleasantly. Not to mention that they weren't exactly on the best terms since Marie's birthday party.
"Francis?"
The dark-haired French boy sprang up, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.
"Is something wrong, Francis?" He stood in front of his friend, eyeing him up and down as worry looped in his mind. "Aren't you supposed to be upstairs with your father?"
Francis looked around the busy room before he leaned in closer to Haadi. "You're wanted upstairs. My father wants to see you."
"Monsieur Arsenault?"
"Yes, who else?" he snapped impatiently, but he quickly regained his composure, and his anxiousness returned two-fold. "From the way he spoke to me this morning, it doesn't sound good, Haadi. He's in a sour mood. I can't tell you what's wrong, but I wish I knew."
Haadi's laughter was forced and uneasy, his lips curling into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It can't be that bad, can it? Did I make a mistake in one of the reports I sent over to him last week? Is this about Monsieur Benoit?"
Francis's face contorted with worry and trepidation, his forehead furrowed deeply as if trying to solve a complex puzzle. "I don't know. But please come with me. I'm sure it's nothing though."
"Yes, you're right." His hands fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, betraying his nervousness even further. "Let's go up, shall we?"
His eyes were wide and unblinking, darting back and forth as if searching for a solution that seemed just out of reach. "Did you see Marie this morning?"
"Marie? No. I haven't seen her since the party. But a few other people told me that she's been keeping busy working on a recent marketing project she was assigned. I don't think she's ever worked this hard before. I mean, she's all but disappeared." It was clear that he was trying to mask his consternation with a facade of humor, but he couldn't quite pull it off.
"Never mind that. Let's go."
Francis and Haadi left the third floor together, heading up to the sixth, where Monsieur Arsenault's office resided. Whatever awaited him, it wasn't going to be good – Haadi could feel it.
It wasn't often that he stepped foot on the sixth floor, mainly because he didn't have any business being up here unless he was dropping off reports to Monsieur Arsenault's secretary, but the atmosphere here was more dreadful than he last recalled it to be. The secretary, a petite blonde woman, wouldn't take her eyes off him, and it wasn't in the familiar, doting way she had done it in the past. She looked disdainful, repulsed, even, by the sight of him.
Francis knocked on his father's door, not waiting for a response before he entered, ushering Haadi inside the office. The room was spacious and well-lit with a large window that offered a breathtaking view of the city below. The walls were adorned with tasteful paintings and portraits, and a luxurious Persian rug covered the polished hardwood floor. A massive oak desk dominated the center of the room, complete with a telephone and an inkwell set, and a leather chair behind it. On the opposite side of the room, there were bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes and framed diplomas and certificates hanging on the walls.
Monsieur Arsenault himself lingered by the window, smoking a cigar with a pensive yet sad expression on his aged face.
"Father." Fracis verbalized their presence. Monsieur Arsenault turned his head slightly to left, where his striking blue eyes, identical to Francis' pinned Haadi to his spot.
"Leave us," he stated plainly, and Francis took that as his cue to rush out of his father's office, closing the door softly behind him.
Haadi's palms became clammy as he stood in front of the desk. He couldn't help but feel small in the grandeur of the entire space. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, unsure of what to do with his hands.
"I'm sure you know why I called you here, Haadi." His nerves only grew as he waited for the man to speak. "This is quite a serious matter."
His first assumption was that he was getting fired.
"If I made any errors in the reports I sent over to you, I can fix them—"
He burst out laughing, the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes creasing deeply, before he took a puff from his cigar, the scent of smoke wafting through the office.
"Why are you laughing, sir?" Haadi asked hesitantly, unsure of what to expect.
Monsieur Arsenault took another puff of his cigar before answering, his eyes sparkling with amusement and... disgust. "Do you really think that this is about your performance at work, boy?"
His heart sank as he realized that this was not a conversation about his job performance. He didn't know what to expect, and the uncertainty made him even more nervous.
"What is it about, then, sir?"
He watched as the man strode towards his desk with heavy, deliberate steps, the sound of his shoes echoing loudly in the small office. Monsieur Arsenault sat down on his chair with a loud thud, his posture erect and imposing, like a king sitting on his throne. Haadi felt like a mere peasant in front of him, small and insignificant. When the man's face darkened, Haadi knew that he was in trouble.
He put out his cigar in an ash tray and began, "I have a reputation to uphold – the reputation of my firm, myself, and my employees. Do you understand that, boy?"
"I do, sir."
"You attended Mademoiselle Blanchet's birthday party not too long ago, didn't you?"
"I did, sir."
Monsieur Arsenault leaned back in his chair, his gaze still trained on Haadi. "Let's be clear here, boy. You attended Mademoiselle Blanchet's birthday party, and I have it on good authority that you pursued her despite her polite refusals. You continued to make advances all evening, ignoring her discomfort and her wishes. And then, when you saw an opportunity, you followed her to the lady's room, where you took advantage of her in the most despicable manner possible."
His mind was a jumbled mess, and he couldn't understand how such accusations could be leveled against him. "I swear, monsieur, I did nothing of the sort. I would never behave in such a manner towards a lady, especially not Mademoiselle Blanchet. It's a misunderstanding. I don't know who told you these lies, but I assure you they are false."
Monsieur Arsenault's expression didn't change, and he grew angrier by the second. "I find it hard to believe that a man of your background could resist the temptation of a wealthy young woman like her."
His hands clenched into fists, and he bit his lip to keep from lashing out. "I didn't take advantage of her. I was out in the garden when she approached me, and she asked me to kiss her—"
"Oh, so you admit that you made contact with Mademoiselle Blanchet?"
"She asked me to—"
"Don't you dare pin the blame on an innocent girl."
"I never took advantage of her, sir," he managed to stammer out, his voice shaking. "I would never do such a thing. I swear it on my honor."
"Your honor means nothing to me, boy. I have no tolerance for men who prey on innocent women. You're lucky I'm not turning you over to the authorities right now. And you're doubly lucky Monsieur Blanchet refuses to press charges. Otherwise, you'd rot in prison for what you've done. But, I cannot work with a man like you."
Fear and shock paralyzed him. "Please, let me explain—"
"How do you expect me to believe you, Haadi? Monsieur Blanchet has informed me of your conduct towards his daughter, and I have heard it straight from her own lips. She told her father how you relentlessly pursued her, despite her clear disinterest. You hounded her after work every day, insisting she have dinner with you. You invited her to the beach on weekends, even though she repeatedly declined. And to top it off, you had the audacity to ply her with alcohol on your own birthday!"
Monsieur Arsenault was a powerful man, and his words could have devastating consequences. For the sake of his employment, his reputation, and his family's dignity, he couldn't allow him or anybody else make these accusations. They were blatant lies.
He had never crossed any lines with Marie, and yet the more he denied it, the more incriminating it sounded. "That's not true, sir! None of that is true!" Haadi took a deep breath, his teary eyes darting around the room, searching for something to latch onto. "Sir... I didn't... I didn't touch Marie."
His brows furrowed in a deep frown, casting shadows over his piercing eyes that glared at Haadi with an intensity that could make even the bravest man quiver in fear. The anger that simmered beneath the surface of his visage was a seething inferno that threatened to consume everything in its path, a tempestuous storm that raged within the confines of his office walls, and one that Haadi could feel the full force of bearing down upon him.
With a voice that boomed through the office like thunder, he roared, "You're fired, Haadi. You Algerian men, always preying on French women like that girl."
Monsieur Arsenault sneered, pointing a finger at him. "You have no respect for our culture or our women. I won't have any of your kind tarnishing my reputation and my company's image. You're fired, effective immediately!"
Haadi felt his blood boil at the man's words. It wasn't fair to be lumped into a group and judged by the actions of a few. He opened his mouth to protest, but the words got caught in his throat, and all he could do was stare in disbelief as Monsieur Arsenault continued his tirade.
Instead, he nodded his head meekly, his eyes downcast in shame and defeat. "I'm sorry, sir," he murmured. "I understand."
His heart felt as if it was pounding out of his chest as he walked out of Monsieur Arsenault's office. He could feel the stares of his colleagues on his back as he made his way to the exit. He didn't even have the strength to look anyone in the eye, too ashamed of what had just transpired. He passed by his desk without a glance and Francis, who called out to him, but Haadi couldn't bring himself to respond.
The world outside the office seemed like a blur as Haadi stumbled out onto the street, the sounds of the city drowning out his thoughts. He didn't know where he was going, his mind consumed with the hurt and betrayal of being accused of something so vile. The words of Monsieur Arsenault echoed in his head, the rude remarks cutting deep into his soul. Haadi had always known that he was different, but he had never imagined that it would be held against him in such a cruel and personal way.
The streets of Algiers, once so familiar to him, seemed alien and unwelcoming. Finally, he found himself on a quiet street, away from the chaos of the city. He leaned against a wall, trying to catch his breath and steady his thoughts. The future seemed bleak, and he was a victim of circumstances beyond his control.
As he sunk to the ground, he thought back to Marie's birthday party, where everything seemed to have gone awry. He remembered how she had asked him for a birthday kiss, and how he had obliged reluctantly, feeling no attraction or connection to her. It was a moment of weakness, and now he regretted it bitterly, for it seemed to have been used against him. He couldn't believe that he was being punished for something he didn't do, all because of a false accusation made by someone he barely liked.
Right before his eyes, his life was imploding. There had to be something he could do. There had to be a way to clear his name.
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Haadi's heart pounded as he stood in front of Isra's door. He hesitated for a moment before knocking, feeling a sudden rush of nervousness.
When she opened the door, she saw Haadi standing before her, and her face lit up with a radiant smile. But her joy was short-lived as she quickly noticed the despondent expression etched on his face, and his tear-filled eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"What happened, Haadi? What's the matter?"
She closed the door behind her and they sat on the steps outside. In a hushed tone, he divulged to her every detail of his recent misfortunes - from the moment he had set foot in the office, to the heart-wrenching conversation he had with Francis, to the grave accusations that had been leveled against him by Monsieur Arsenault. His words dripped with despair and desperation, and with each passing moment, Isra felt her heart grow heavier with sorrow.
"But they have no evidence! How can they accuse you of such a thing, Haadi?" she asked, leaking desperation. He wished he could have provided her with an answer, but it seemed futile. Everything was falling apart.
"They're French, Isra. It's just what they do, the power they have... their government cares more about them than they do about us." He squeezed her hand once, then let it fall. "You believe me, don't you, Isra? I would never do such a thing to Marie or anyone, for that matter."
"Of course I believe you," she said, "always, Haadi. Always. I love you."
He had done enough crying on his way here, and he really didn't have the energy to shed any more tears, but staring at her open and vulnerable expression, seeing her love for him reflected in the brown irises of her eyes, he broke, and he wept silently. It was as though all the pain and suffering he had been carrying within him had found release in her presence, and he was grateful for her understanding.
That afternoon, she informed her mother that she would be out with him. Instead of taking a taxi, they decided to take a leisurely walk, relishing the beauty of the city as they meandered through the winding alleys and cobbled streets. They arrived at the Jardin, a tranquil oasis amidst the hustle and bustle of the city. The scent of blooming flowers filled the air, and the rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds provided a soothing melody that calmed their nerves. They made their way to their usual spot, just beyond the clearing of trees, and settled down in front of the rosebushes, whose delicate petals were a vibrant shade of crimson.
"So what will you do now, Haadi?"
Haadi looked up at her with sadness and uncertainty in his eyes, taking in the sight of her delicate features framed by the gentle sunlight filtering through the trees. He let out a deep sigh and turned his head to stare up at the clear blue sky above.
"I don't know, Isra. I feel lost, like I don't know what to do or where to turn. I thought I had everything figured out, but now it feels like I'm starting from scratch."
Isra ran her fingers through his hair, her touch comforting and soothing, as if trying to chase away his worries with each stroke. "It's okay not to know, Haadi," she said gently. "But I still can't believe Marie would accuse you of such a thing. I thought you two were friends."
"I thought so too, Isra. But I guess I was wrong. I should have seen the signs. She was always a bit too friendly, too touchy." He paused, his gaze focused on the distant horizon. "I just never thought she would stoop this low."
She leaned in closer, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. "You couldn't have known, Haadi. She's the one in the wrong here, not you."
"I shouldn't have attended her birthday party." His voice was muffled, his face buried in her lap.
Isra gently lifted his face, and her eyes met his. "That still doesn't make it your fault. You were just being a good friend. You can still clear your name. I'll vouch for you, my parents will vouch for you, too."
"You always know what to say to make me feel better," he said, a small smile playing on his lips.
She returned the smile, her heart swelling with love for him. "I'll always be here for you," she said, stroking his cheek with her thumb.
He closed his eyes, relishing her touch. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Isra. Just yesterday, our lives were going according to plan, and now... oh, I've created such a mess. I'm so sorry, my love."
"You need to tell your parents about this now. They'll know what to do, I'm sure."
"I feel as though I've disappointed them."
"You haven't disappointed anybody, Haadi."
They spent the remainder of their afternoon at the Jardin, and he desperately tried to understand why Marie would turn on him so suddenly and with such venom. The very thought of her accusing him of a crime as grave as rape made his blood run cold. He felt as if he was lost in a labyrinthine maze of guilt, betrayal, and despair, his mind whirling with endless questions and no answers in sight.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the garden, he turned to Isra. He knew that he had to tread carefully, to weigh his words and actions with the utmost care. After all, Marie was a French woman with a voice that could drown out his own in every possible way. He was acutely aware of the power dynamic at play, and the precariousness of his own position in this delicate game of social politics.
In the evening, they returned home, and as was typical, he walked her to her house.
They stood in front of her door, his eyes latching onto hers. He wanted to stay with her, to hold her close, and to never let go. But he knew he couldn't, not tonight. He had to face his demons alone, and he couldn't drag her into the mess he was currently in.
"I'll see you soon," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, and kissed her gently on the lips.
Isra nodded, her eyes reflecting the same sadness he felt. "Take care, Haadi. I love you. Everything will be okay."
She watched him walk away, each step taking him further away from her until he disappeared into the night. She closed the door and leaned against it. The thought of him alone, fighting a battle that wasn't his to fight, made her ache inside. She whispered a prayer for his safety and promised herself that she would be there for him, no matter the strife.
Tears streamed down his face like a river, each drop carrying his shattered dreams and uncertain future. His voice trembled as he spoke, his words stumbling and halting as if they were a fragile thread on the verge of breaking. His mother and father sat there, listening to their son's words with a mixture of shock, anger, and heartache. They too were struggling to come to terms with the news, to understand how their son could be accused of such a heinous crime. Yet despite their own anguish, they remained by his side, offering words of comfort and support as he wept before them.
His father's voice boomed throughout the room, filled with anger and disbelief. The veins on his forehead stood out, his face reddened with rage as he spoke. "To think that we welcomed them into our country, treated them as our own, and this is how they repay us? By accusing our son of a crime he did not commit? They have no honor, no decency!"
"I don't know what to do, baba," Haadi replied, his voice hoarse from all the crying. "But I swear on my life that I am innocent. I have never even thought of doing something like that."
His father nodded fiercely, his eyes blazing. "Of course you're innocent, my son. We know you better than anyone else. We will fight this injustice with everything we have. We won't let those French bastards get away with this!"
Haadi's mother squeezed his hand, offering him a small smile of encouragement. "We're with you, Haadi. No matter what happens, we are always here for you."
"We'll find a way to clear your name."
Even amidst the solace of his family's support, Haadi couldn't shake off the harsh reality of his situation. He was facing an uphill battle against a wealthy French family, and the odds were not in his favor. It was a sobering realization that hit him hard, like a ton of bricks crashing down on him. The thought of such injustice made him angry, but he knew that he had to be careful and tread lightly in such treacherous waters.
It was imperative for him to confront Marie and demand an explanation for her heinous accusation before taking any further steps. Everything was at stake, and one mistake could cost him everything.
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Haadi, despite being fired from his former workplace, remained undeterred and found himself waiting outside the office doors the next day, eagerly anticipating the arrival of one person - Marie. As he stood there, his former colleagues, who had been privy to the accusations made against him, glared at him with contempt, but he paid them no heed, his focus solely on the imminent confrontation with Marie.
As he waited anxiously for her arrival, his attention was drawn to a figure standing behind him. Turning around, he saw Francis standing at the office doorway with a look of pity etched on his face. Holding one of the doors open, Francis spoke softly, "I heard what happened."
Haadi averted his gaze, feeling his emotions well up inside him once more. The urge to cry threatened to overcome him, but he suppressed it with a deep breath. Then he heard the sound of footsteps approaching.
Without a word, Francis stepped out onto the sidewalk and joined him, standing shoulder to shoulder as they watched the morning traffic pass them by. "I don't believe her."
Haadi's head shot up in surprise, meeting his friend's unwavering gaze. "You... you believe me?" he asked.
"I do. I've known you for too long, Haadi. You're not capable of something like that."
"But your father—"
"He's in Monsieur Blanchet's pockets. He has to believe whatever they say."
"What am I supposed to do, Francis? I'm going to lose everything," he said with a defeated tone. "I needed this job to save for my future with Isra."
Francis placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't give up, Haadi. There's still a chance to clear your name. You have to fight this."
"But the evidence. They have evidence against me."
"What evidence? All they have is her word against yours. And we both know that's not enough."
Haadi let out a bitter laugh. "Apparently it is enough. They fired me, Francis. Without even hearing my side of the story."
Francis clenched his fists. "It's not fair. You didn't deserve this."
He was simply drained, at a loss for how to react. "What am I supposed to do now?"
"Something. Anything. Anything at all."
"Do you know if she's coming to work today? I hoped to speak to her, to understand why she did this to me. I thought we were all friends, but I suppose... I don't know."
"I'll vouch for you, Haadi. I'm on your side."
There wasn't much Francis would be able to do, but it was comforting to have another person in his corner, should he need it.
"I should get back to work," he announced, patting Haadi's shoulder. "Will you be alright out here?"
"I'll be alright."
Haadi watched Francis disappear through the doors of the office building, his mind racing with questions and doubts.
The sounds of honking cars and chattering pedestrians echoed in the distance, but Haadi was oblivious to it all. He stood like a solitary figure, gazing down the road with an intense concentration, waiting for the one person who could answer the questions that tormented him. And then, like a figment of his imagination, she appeared.
The black car pulled up with a screech of tires, and Marie stepped out, her figure draped in a white sundress that fluttered in the breeze. He wouldn't let her get away with this – he had a life, he had dreams, he had a woman he wanted to marry next year, and a baseless accusation like this had turned everything upside down. And for what? Because she was jealous of Isra? Or did she want to prove that she was more powerful and cunning than they'd ever be? Was it a sick play of wealth?
He wanted to scream, to lash out at her and make her pay for what she had done. He struggled to keep his emotions in check, to remain calm and composed despite the seething anger that threatened to overwhelm him. But as he approached her, he could see the fear in her eyes, the guilt that she was trying to hide. It made him even angrier, that she could be so callous and yet so afraid of the consequences of her lies.
"Marie," he said sternly, stopping in front of her. "We need to talk."
She stared up at him, her body visibly trembling. "I don't know what for, Haadi," she replied, trying to sound innocent. "I'm already late as it is."
Haadi didn't buy it. "Don't play dumb with me, Marie. You know exactly what I'm talking about. What did you tell your father? What did you tell Monsieur Arsenault?"
Her mocking laugh permeated the air around them, and she tossed her head back, but he could tell that it was just a brave front she was putting on to mask her obvious guilt. "I know what you Algerians are like. You think you can do whatever you want to us French women and get away with it. Well, not this time, Haadi. I'm not going to let you get away with it."
A surge of rage exploded within him at her words. He had never been more insulted in his life. "You know nothing about me or my people," he spat. "You have no right to accuse me of something so vile."
Marie's expression hardened, and she took a step towards him, her eyes flashing with fury. "How dare you talk to me like that?" she snarled. "You should be on your knees begging for forgiveness."
"Why did you do it, Marie? Why did you accuse me of something I didn't do?" His words were like a whip, cutting through the air and demanding an answer. "Why would say that I raped you?"
The fury in her eyes faded to sorrow, and then to shame. She seemed small and fragile in front of him, and he had to resist the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she told the truth.
"You accused me of rape. Rape, Marie. Do you know what that means? Do you know what it does to a man's reputation?"
Tears pearled on her lashes, the sight almost instilling guilt in him until he remembered that he was the victim here. "I didn't mean for things to go this far. I was just... angry when you left my birthday party because of Isra and—"
"So, you decided to accuse me of a crime? Do you know what could happen to me because of this? I could go to jail, Marie. I could lose everything." He turned away from her, his shoulders slumped in defeat, as he took deep breaths. After the friendship they had formed, the laughter they shared, the secrets they told one another, the trust they built - all of it gone in an instant because of her jealousy.
"You've ruined my life," he said, his voice shaking with emotion. "You've destroyed everything I've worked for, everything I care about. And for what? Because you were jealous?"
Haadi stood there, his eyes boring into Marie, waiting for an answer. He didn't care that they were out on the street, or that Monsieur Arsenault could see them from his window. What mattered was clearing his name. She looked down at her feet, wringing her hands nervously. Finally, she spoke.
"I was upset, Haadi. After you left the party, my father saw me crying and he asked what was wrong. I told him that we had kissed and he became furious. He didn't want me to be involved with an Algerian, and I didn't want to upset him further, so I... I said that I hadn't wanted the kiss and that...I didn't think it would go this far, I swear. Please, can't we just forget this ever happened?"
Haadi shook his head in disbelief. "No! I can't just forget about this. You have to come forward and tell the truth. You have to take responsibility for what you've done."
Her tears were like droplets of rain falling from her eyes, but he remained unmoved. He knew that tears could be used to manipulate, and he would not be fooled by them.
"I demand to speak to your father. Today. Now."
Marie hiccuped and tried to protest, but Haadi cut her off with a sharp gesture. "No more excuses. You will take me to your father, and you will tell him the truth."
"Haadi..."
"I'm serious, Marie. Take me to him. I have to clear my name."
She remained silent for a moment before replying, "Tomorrow, I'll take you to him tomorrow."
He would bide his time and trust that she would keep her word.
"Thank you," he said, his tone still wary. "I hope you understand that this is important to me."
As Marie nodded her head in acquiescence, a fleeting but potent sense of relief infused Haadi's being. It was a meager triumph in the grand scheme of things, but a crucial stride towards exonerating himself from the false allegations. He was prepared to wage a relentless battle until the veracity of his character was vindicated, and justice was served.
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"I'll be meeting with her family tomorrow to discuss the allegations," he began, taking a bite out of his croissant. Isra looked at him with concern, having barely touched her breakfast.
"What do you think her father will say?"
Haadi finished chewing, and replied, "Once he hears my side of the story and Marie admits that everything was a lie, he'll have no choice but to believe me. I'll also ask Francis' father for my job back."
She reached over, taking his hand in her easy clasp. "I hope so. I hate to see you this way, Haadi. I love you."
"I love you too, Isra." To solidify his feelings, he kissed her temple sweetly, pulling away with an adoring smile on his face. She blushed, always unsure of how to respond to him despite the giddiness in her heart. She couldn't wait to marry him. And she'd wait forever if she had to.
They finished up their breakfast and bid his parents goodbye, informing them that they would be taking a stroll to the Jardin again. The prospect that Marie was going to help him clear his name had put him in a stellar mood. He was his old self again, flirting and teasing and laughing, and on one occasion it had drawn the attention of pedestrians as they walked through the busy city.
At the Jardin, Haadi had been sure to tell her the number of children he wanted to have, a total of three. "Two boys and one girl," he proclaimed, to which Isra giggled and swatted his arm half-heartedly. "What? I want a family with you, flower. But I don't want too many children because I'm selfish, and I wouldn't want you to share your love and attention with anybody else but me."
She turned her head, catching his cheek in a kiss, before saying, "You'll always have my love and attention, Haadi. Children won't change how I feel about you."
"Now that I think about it," his arm encircled her shoulders and he shifted closer to her, their shoulders and thighs brushing, "maybe we should have just one. That would be enough, don't you think?"
Her lips were carved into a soft smile, and her brown eyes, glazed with adoration, gazed at his profile. "I'll have as many as you give me."
It was only a year – a year would go by and she'd be with the person she loved, without having to tiptoe around her parents or yield to their demands. It was perfect.
His hand fell to her flat stomach, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles that made her stomach tingle with warmth. She snuggled into his side, resting her head against his shoulder as they studied the flowers in front of them.
"Would you like to go to the beach?" he asked her.
"Right now? But I don't have my bathing suit."
A roguish smirk alighted on his face. "You won't need one."
Once she registered the hidden message, her teeth sank into her lower lip as she pondered thoughtfully. "I thought you had more self-control than this!"
"I do." Haadi's laughter danced in the air, like a gentle breeze that rustled through the leaves and petals, carrying with it a mixture of joy and longing. "But I just... I just crave you sometimes, Isra. I can't help myself. It's your fault, you know. Maybe if you tried to look less beautiful – which is impossible – then I wouldn't be sitting here full of desire for you."
"So you only love me because I'm beautiful?" she asked playfully, a smile lightening her expression.
"That's not what I meant." Haadi shook his head, his expression turning sincere. He extended his hand towards her, a silent invitation that she gladly accepted, allowing him to help her rise to her feet. "I'd love you no matter what you look like. I cherish you for the person you are, deep within your soul. My love for you transcends the superficial. I am not shallow in matters of the heart."
He gently cupped her face with his free hand, his touch delicate as if holding something precious. "You mean everything to me, Isra Mansouri."
Isra's heart swelled with warmth, and she leaned closer, her forehead resting against his. Their breaths mingled in a shared intimacy that transcended mere words.
"Stop sweet-talking me to get your way, Haadi."
She couldn't resist his charm, and an hour later, they sat upon the sandy beach of Plage des Pins.
Beneath the sprawling branches of their cherished pine tree, they found respite from the world's cares. The gentle caress of the salty breeze, mingled with the rhythmic whispers of the waves, created an enchanting symphony that enveloped them in a serene cocoon. With their fingers entwined, they traced invisible patterns upon each other's palms, their touch communicating a language known only to them. The golden sunlight filtered through the verdant canopy above, casting playful shadows upon their intertwined bodies.
As the azure waves gently lapped against the shore, carrying with them dreams and secrets whispered by the sea, Isra stared up at Haadi. His eyes, radiant with adoration and yearning, mirrored the intensity of her emotions as he moved slowly, tenderly, within her depths.
Isra's breath caught in her chest as Haadi leaned closer, his lips hovering just above hers, savoring their imminent connection. Time seemed to stand still, encapsulated within that suspended moment, where the world around them ceased to exist.
With a tenderness reserved for the rarest of moments, his lips finally found their destination, melding with hers in a sublime union.
Each whispering wave and rustling breeze bore witness to the consummation of their love, their union an ethereal fusion of souls. Her breath hitched as he traced a path of bliss along the canvas of her skin, igniting a kaleidoscope of pleasure that radiated from their connection. Isra's innermost desires melded with his, as if the universe itself conspired to create this sacred moment.
"Are you alright, Isra?"
"Mhm. I feel wonderful. I feel so good," she whispered breathlessly.
Their breaths intertwined, a sweet melody that echoed through the secluded beach. They surrendered themselves completely to the uncharted realm of intimacy, their bodies and souls entangled, entwined in a timeless embrace.
She smelled the tang of salt in the air and felt the sand cushioning her head as his movements became more pronounced, more deliberate. Every shift reverberated through her body, igniting a symphony of sensations that danced along her nerve endings. She could feel the pulsating intensity building within her, a crescendo of passion that threatened to consume her entirely.
In his arms, she found her completeness and solace.
"I love you, Isra," he murmured, his voice low but soft, as though he was afraid to utter those very words.
Isra's fingers traced delicate patterns on his chest. "I love you too."
It happened as it always did – he shuddered in her arms, his face buried in her neck as he gave her everything. And she, closing her eyes, held him close as she fell off the precipice. It was a surreal feeling to be like this. It was beautiful; they caught their breath but never once looked elsewhere except at each other.
"I-I'm sorry, Isra. I should've given you a heads-up. It was so sudden... I didn't mean to... finish so quickly."
She caressed his back soothingly. "There's no need to apologize, Haadi. It's alright, really. It was beautiful, just as it always is with you."
"It's just that... in the moment, everything feels so intense, so overwhelming." His cheeks turned rosy.
In the silence that followed, they exchanged soft whispers of affection, reaffirming their commitment to each other. She then pressed a tender kiss to his lips. "There's no need to rush."
Haadi's embarrassment deepened, and he scratched the back of his head nervously. "Yeah, you're right. I guess I got carried away. It's just that being with you... it's like a storm of emotions. I mean, we can... go again if you want. I'm up for a second round, if you are."
Isra giggled, a sound that filled the atmosphere with a lightness that eased their awkwardness. "Don't worry, it's okay."
His boyish smile returned. "I was starting to worry that I might've made a complete fool of myself. But hey, we're learning together, right?"
As he gently pulled away from her, his hands pulling up her underwear before carefully lowering her skirt back into place, their laughter bubbled forth mischievously. Their youthful spirits danced in the air, entwined with a shared secret that brought a playful glimmer to their eyes.
Haadi's grin widened as he looked down at her, his fingers lingering on her waist for a moment longer than necessary. "I think we should probably go back now," he said.
"How long has it been?"
"Far too long for our parents. They're probably worried about us."
As reluctant as she was to part with him, she agreed. "Your clothes are in disarray. Come here, let me fix them."
She reached out, her delicate fingers deftly straightening his collar and smoothing out the wrinkles in his clothes. "You always know how to make everything right."
Isra blushed at the compliment, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. "I just want you to look presentable for your parents," she replied, smoothening down his hair.
"I must look quite a mess, don't I?" he admitted sheepishly.
"There, much better. You wouldn't want anyone to suspect what we've been up to, would you?"
"No, we wouldn't want that. Our secret, remember?"
Isra blushed, a delightful shade of pink spreading across her cheeks. "Our little adventure by the seaside."
With a tender smile, Haadi gently brushed a strand of stray hair behind her ear, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through her. Their playful banter dissolved into a moment of shared silence, their eyes locked in a tender exchange of affection and understanding. They were kindred spirits, two souls partaking in a dance of youthful love and curiosity.
Reluctantly, they pulled away from each other, their hands still entangled. They knew it was time to return to the world outside their secret haven, but their hearts remained tethered to one another, eager to continue the adventure that lay ahead.
As they made their way back to the main beach, walking side by side, the air around them seemed charged with newfound energy.
When Haadi hailed a taxi for them, they climbed in. As they nestled close in the backseat of the taxi, his lips brushed against Isra's in stolen moments of sweetness, their kisses soft and tender, ignited by the thrill of secrecy. Whenever their mischievous eyes met, they would dissolve into giggles, their laughter mingling with the rhythm of the car's engine.
They played a game of hidden affection, stealing kisses when the driver's attention waned, their hearts dancing with each stolen moment. It was as if time stood still for them, and the world around them faded into insignificance. They were lost in their own private universe, a realm where only their love existed. Every touch, every stolen glance, carried a sense of exhilaration, a rush of adrenaline coursing through their veins. Their laughter became the soundtrack to their clandestine romance.
When the taxi rolled to a stop, they reluctantly broke apart, their lips tingling with the memory of stolen affection. They paid the driver and stepped out onto the familiar street, their hands finding each other's naturally, fingers intertwining as they walked towards their homes.
He dropped her in front of her house first, hesitant to part with her, but she had forced him to go home.
They hugged each other goodbye, their cheeks rosy and their hearts bursting with affection.
"Goodbye, Isra," he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"Goodbye, Haadi," she replied, a shy smile on her lips.
He kissed her once more before he left, waving back at her as he disappeared down the narrow street, and catching the kiss she blew toward him as if it were a prize.
Isra was hopeful. This was just the beginning, but she was hopeful that they'd have a happy ending.